


The Wraith Ringer

by Silent_So_Long



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-30
Updated: 2011-11-30
Packaged: 2017-10-26 17:49:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/286177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silent_So_Long/pseuds/Silent_So_Long
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean, Sam and Castiel head for Atlanta, Georgia, to investigate the Wraith Ringer of Atlanta</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wraith Ringer

**Author's Note:**

> written for the 50states_spn challenge 2011. My claim was the state of Georgia, and so I chose to write about the Wraith Ringer of Atlanta. Google has been much abused during the writing of this fic, as being English myself, I only had previously scant knowledge of Georgia.

Dean leant back in his seat, rubbing his stomach in obvious contentment and enjoyment. He stared at the remains of the meal he’d just eaten smeared across the white surface of his plate - scraps of griddled chicken, fried okra and fried green tomatoes. He smacked his lips together appreciatively, and considered ordering another plate of the delicious meal, yet held back, knowing that his stomach couldn’t hold another morsel, despite the tasty food he’d consumed.

He eyed the triggerfish fillet Sam was still picking over fussily, fork held idly in the younger Winchester’s large hand. Occasionally, the tines would descend, scooping up another mouthful of fillet or spaghetti squash, yet Dean could tell that his brother’s attention was anywhere but on his food. Sam’s gaze was firmly trained upon his laptop, free hand scrolling through several browser pages on his screen, brows pulled low over his eyes as he concentrated.

“Find anything yet?” Dean asked, as he grew weary of his brother’s continued silence.

“Not anything we didn’t already know,” Sam sighed, as he flipped the laptop closed with an expansive sigh. “The bell rings and people die.”

Dean sighed in turn at that, knowing that that news wasn’t exactly what he would call “news.” The Winchesters were currently in Atlanta, Georgia, investigating the wraith ringer of Atlanta. They’d been sent there via a contact of Bobby, who’d heard of upcoming problems in the area.

As legend served it, it seemed as though a man had fallen victim, many years in the distant past, to an assassin wielding a stiletto upon the streets of Atlanta, whereupon his shade, witnessed by a guard, entered the church at Elliot Street. It was then that the spirit had rung the bells, but was never to be seen to exit the church itself. Over the years, a mysterious black robed figure, assumed to be the murdered man, was often to be seen flitting down Elliot Street, and the sounds of muffled bells would inexplicably ring around the neighbourhood.

Every time the bells sent peals echoing around Atlanta, they sounded muffled as though of hands holding the clappers down. The sound would roll like wind was hitting the bells to send the sounds muted everywhere. Every time the bells pealed out in such fashion, always near midnight, the omens were bad for everyone in town, ill boding borne on winds of change and someone, somewhere, would die, never to grace the Earth again.

All the victims in previous years had been male, well built with mid-brown hair, all killed by a sharp blade, like the stiletto used in the original murder. They all had died during the month of July, most nights at exactly midnight, the same month and time the original assassin had struck. It seemed as though the deaths happened in cycles - every seventeen years, the same age the original murder victim had been when he’d died. Neither Sam nor Dean had been able to expand further on the tale that Bobby had already recounted to them, through extensive internet research.

They had been in town for only a day, working under the assumption that the deaths were alleged to start the following day. Dean had been all for stopping at the Miller Union restaurant, their current surroundings, yet Sam, as usual, had resisted the idea at first, preferring to dive right into the hunt, foregoing meals and Dean’s increasingly insistent stomach. It had been at Dean’s loud and increasingly more abusive diatribes that they should sample some proper, local food from Georgia or they’d never get the chance again, or at least, in Dean's reasoning for a very long while. Dean’s grouching alone had convinced Sam to stop, rather than the prospect of leaving Georgia without sampling some of the local fare.

“So what are we gonna do first?” Dean asked, hands splayed over his stomach in satisfaction.

“Sleep, for one thing,” Sam replied, with a pointed yawn. “We've been driving all day, Dean. I think we’ve both deserved a good night’s rest. Besides I think you need to sleep off your meal.”

That last comment was accompanied by a jaundiced look towards Dean’s well-fed, distended stomach, to which Dean threw him a fake hurt look.

“I’m a man, dude. I need a man’s meal, not that girly crap you insist on pecking at,” he said, gesturing pointedly towards the half finished meal growing cold in front of his brother.

“Whatever, dude. I’m too tired to argue,” Sam yawned, as he riffled one hand through his hair wearily.

Dean shook his head, before he said - “There was a Motel 6 somewhere nearby. We should head there and crash out for the night.”

Sam nodded, and waited for Dean to settle the bill, before they headed for the nearby motel, and on into bed.

 

~*~*~*~

Dean tossed and turned in his bed, bright blue and red standard Motel 6 covers flung from his body in heated disgust. The night air was close and humid, clinging to his body and making it difficult for the elder Winchester to sleep. He turned and saw that Sam was closed-eyed in dreamless state, mouth hanging open slightly. Dean wagered that his brother was drooling, so pulled his phone from the pocket of his jacket draped on a chair nearby and snapped a few incriminating shots, close up and long-view. He chuckled to himself, before settling down again, turning away and closing his eyes.

He tried to relax, loosening every single muscle in his body and clearing his mind. Neither proved to be very easy; his body was always tense, ready to spring into action at any given moment, mind always alert for the same reason. He yawned, felt the first trickle of sweat drip down and pool on his forehead.

After a seemingly interminable time, his eyes closed in sleep, dreams claiming him amidst the humidity of a Georgian night. He could hear insects singing far off, crickets chirping in the bushes, serenading him with meaningless songs. Far off, he could hear the sonorous tolling of a bell, muffled as though by gloved bony hands, murmuring, mumbling as of bronze being stimulated by strong winds, portentous, ominous, ever insistent and growing louder by the second ...

~*~*~*~

The wraith shimmered along the streets of Atlanta, heading northwards. Its presence, largely unseen by the night time populace, was certainly felt by the most sensitive. They shivered at the cool press and touch of the wraith’s passing, shivering and turning and finding nothing but open warm humid space once more.

The wraith continued upon its inexorable path, until it reached the door it was seeking. It passed through the wooden barrier easily, its footsteps carried along by the waves and pulse of muted bells, as it swept up the stairs and on into a sleeping young man’s bedroom. The hapless sleeper knew nothing of the wraith’s presence, too wrapped up in dreaming state.

The wraith leant down and pressed cool lips against the man’s temple, sucking the life force from the man, while slicing it’s victim's throat with a stiletto. Once it was satisfied the life force had been fully drained, it passed on into the night once more, leaving only death and destruction in its wake ...

~*~*~*~

Dean jerked awake suddenly, surprised by the sight of sunlight seeping in through the window, blinding him but for a moment against the brightness of it. He shielded his eyes and groaned slightly, surprised at the way his head felt heavier than it should, as though he’d been drinking copious amounts of alcohol the night before. He knew he hadn’t, yet he still couldn’t explain the humungous almost-hangover that was assailing his brain right then.

“Hello, Dean,” said Castiel from nearby, deep voice oddly comforting in the close confines of the heated room.

Dean rolled over and saw the angel sitting on the edge of Sam’s bed, which was, Dean saw, completely devoid of Sam himself. He also noticed that despite the humidity, Castiel was still wearing his tan coat over his suit, looking as though the temperature didn’t bother him.

“Don’t you ever take that thing off, Cas?” Dean moaned, by way of greeting.

“What thing are you referring to, Dean?” Castiel asked, tilting his head towards Dean in confusion, brows furrowing over confused blue eyes.

Despite his inherent gruffness induced by the heat, Dean still wouldn’t be caught dead by considering that one small gesture “cute.” Still, Castiel looked cute when confused, yet Dean, unperturbed by his previous train of thought, gestured towards the angel’s coat.

“That damn coat. We’re in Georgia, dude. It’s humid here. Even you must be able to feel that,” Dean mumbled, as he straightened, wincing sleepily at the angel.

Castiel was examining his coat as though seeing it for the very first time, slender hand picking at the collar experimentally. He flattened down the front of it, as he turned his gaze towards Dean once more.

“No, Dean. I needn’t remind you of the fact that I am an angel and as such, am not hampered by things such as humidity,” he said, as though confronted by an incredibly problematic and recalcitrant child.

Dean opened his mouth as though to protest then visibly gave up the fight before it even started. No matter how hard Castiel tried to understand humanity, there still were some things the angel seemed incapable of truly understanding, like fitting in and taking his coat off once in a while.

“You know what? Never mind. Where’s Sam?” Dean asked, checking the room once more and coming up short on the Sasquatch front.

“I believe he said he was going to buy the local newspapers, before heading to the library. He asked me to tell you to meet him there,” Castiel told him, gravely. “It seems as though someone died during the night.”

“Someone died,” Dean repeated, mind immediately floating back to the night before when he’d thought he’d heard the sonorous tones of the bell beating against his consciousness. “I thought the bell I heard last night was a dream.”

“You heard the bell? No, I assure you, that was quite real,” Castiel assured him, stoically. “Unfortunately for the soul that suffered at the hands of the wraith ringer. You really need to get ready and meet Sam at the library.”

Dean groaned, then said - “Okay, Mom. Before I have a shower, I gotta take a pee and brush my teeth. Not in my pee, though, dude.”

“Of course not. That would be quite disgusting, Dean,” Castiel rejoined, staring at the hunter with his usual blank faced scrutiny.

Dean couldn’t tell if the angel had made a joke or was being serious. Most of the time, it was really hard to tell the difference, considering that Castiel’s face was largely inscrutable and expressionless. Dean sighed and shrugged to himself, before turning to leave the main room, heading into the en-suite bathroom. Upon his return back to the main room, it was to find that Castiel had already gone.

*~*~*

Dean swung his jacket onto his shoulders and left the motel room behind. He locked the door firmly shut before heading to the Impala, to drive through the streets of Atlanta, searching for Central library and a place to park. Eventually he found both, leaving the solitary hunter with a five minute walk back to the library.

The library itself was roomy, and surprisingly cool aided by the caressing breezes of revolving fans mounted upon free spaces. That came as some relief to Dean himself, sweat cooling upon his skin after entering the large, multi-storied building. He purposefully stood in front of one of the fans, lifting his t shirt to allow the caress of the breezes to play across his heated skin. A passing librarian gave him a look that was caught halfway between severity and admiration, to which Dean typically nodded and tipped her an encouraging wink.

“Howdy,”” he said, with a grin that he knew usually worked on women.

The librarian smiled at him and looked about to speak, yet a familiar voice sounded from nearby, interrupting them.

“Dean,” Sam said, loudly, as he made his way through a crowd of teens to meet his brother. “I wondered when you’d get here. The computer hub is on the fourth floor. I need to check more information in the library’s databanks.”

“Okay. What have you found out so far, Kojak?” Dean asked, as he glanced regretfully towards the librarian, who, even now, was wandering away, having lost interest after the appearance of Sam.

Dean heaved a sigh and followed Sam into the depths of Central Library, heading for the fourth floor and the computer banks. Sam filled Dean in on the way, yet it wasn’t much advanced from the things they already knew. Dean frowned in dissatisfaction, before sitting back to watch Sam do his magic with the computers. He peered over Sam’s shoulder when the younger Winchester finally found something of note - the name of the wraith ringer, Michael Taylor.

Sam merely harrumphed, before he said - “We’d best get to the police station, see the body for ourselves.”

“I hear that, alright,” Dean greed, as he stood, glad to get away from the glowing screens of the computer before them at last.

He stretched, joints popping in protest at the sudden movement after being held in one position for too long. Sam stood more slowly, without the popping joints and the exuberant stretching his brother had displayed. Dean made the first move to leave the library, wincing as the Georgia heat struck against his head, making him instantly sweat again. Although Sam looked as hot as Dean currently felt, it seemed as though the younger Winchester wasn’t quite affected by the humidity as Dean was. Dean wondered then at Sam’s resistance to heat, leading him to think that Sam was part-Vulcan after all.

*~*~*

They weren’t in attendance at the police station for very long. After Dean had charmed his way in through chatting up the pretty police woman on reception, they’d examined the body, discovering that the internet and library reports had been right.

The body had been completely sucked dry of all vitality and life force, seemingly sucked in upon itself like the world’s largest over-ripe peach. Dean had thought of that analogy himself and was quite proud of it, considering which state they were currently visiting. Sam wasn’t impressed by it however, when Dean had revealed the peach analogy. Dean’s face had taken on his most sour expression.

They then left the police station, to head back to their motel room and ready themselves for the night ahead. They laid plans for Dean and the newly arrived Castiel to perform a stake out upon the Elliot Street church, while Sam would find the resting place of the original victim, whose name they’d discovered to be Michael Taylor, to perform a simple salt and burn ritual. As Dean commented, not without some enthusiasm, it was almost like old times.

~*~*~*~

The storm gathering on the horizon was rolling in swiftly, turning the already dark night darker still. Electricity liberally crackled through the air, grating against the exposed skin of Dean’s forearms as he waited across the road from the church. Even with the window rolled down upon the Impala, the night breezes that filtered in through the window didn‘t shift the humidity. Beside him, Castiel was sitting silently, dark blue gaze shifting and watchful at the intermittent late night traffic. The angel’s hands were resting loosely upon his knees, long, slender fingers curled in relaxation.

Dean’s eyes drooped low over his eyes, head lolling forward in sudden sleep. The lack of sleep from the night before, plus the humidity of the area was starting to take its toll upon the hunter, sending his mind into unprompted sleep. He shook himself, trying to jerk himself awake, grumbling that he was a hunter and sleep didn’t affect him on a job.

Soon however, his head dipped forward once more and he was asleep within seconds. Castiel allowed the hunter his sleep, knowing that Dean didn’t get nearly as much of it as he should. He should know; after all, he’d watched over his charge over endless nights in the past, invisible, unseen, protecting him when he could, when his business with Heaven didn’t prohibit him from returning to Dean’s side.

He scanned the street again, wondering whether Sam had reached his destination yet. Wherever the other hunter was, he was well hidden, and the sigils still carved onto both brothers’ ribs prevented Castiel from locating either one of them with any degree of accuracy on any given day.

After another half hour rolled past, interspersed with Dean’s gentle snores, Castiel saw a form flitting across the street, as of a cowled and robed figure, pale face glimmering under his black cowl ominously. Dean’s soft snores were choked short when Castiel grabbed his shoulder and shook him urgently.

“Dean,” the angel said, sharply. “Wake up. The ringer is here.”

“Wha - ?” Dean asked, as he blinked blearily into the night. “ Shouldn’t have let me sleep, man. Stake out’s important.”

“So is sleep, Dean,” Castiel said, testily. “That is not of import right now, however. As I already stated, the ringer is here.”

“Yeah? I don’t see him,” Dean mumbled as he routed his fingers sleepily into his eyes and yawned loudly into the silent interior of the car.

Castiel remained silent until Dean himself checked the church, just in time to see the robed figure disappearing inside.

“Holy crap,” Dean said, sharply, before he plunged out from the Impala to find Castiel already standing outside.

They reached the belfry swiftly, two bodies cramming into the space, as the bells inside began to ring. The noise itself, although muffled by the wraith’s hands against the bronze was still loud enough to discourage talking. They circled the wraith ringer diligently, Castiel with his hands upraised in readiness to smite. Dean, meanwhile, was carrying his knife shoved though his belt and a sawed off shotgun with salt rounds in his hands.

Dean managed to fire off a few rounds at the wraith, turning its ghostly cowled atoms into so much smoke and ashes. Every time, however, it returned, the ominous ringing of the bells growing louder and louder in the confines of the belfry. Dean fired off another round straight into the wraith’s face when it turned to face him at one point, before the shade re-appeared, angry gaze fixed upon Dean’s face.

The wraith turned and plunged through the air, pinning Dean to the wall with an audible growl, skeletal pale face pushed into Dean’s personal space. Dean struggled, feeling the wraith’s thin hands fasten around his neck, pads of the thing’s ghostly fingers digging into his flesh inexorably, He gagged, trying to draw in breath yet found it difficult to do so against the push and shove of the much stronger wraith. Dean kicked, flailed and struggled, yet his attempts for freedom were failing. Castiel’s hand descended upon the ethereal form of the wraith, pitching the ghost from Dean’s body and slamming it up against the wall.

“Do not touch a hair upon that boy’s head,” Castiel growled into the now silent belfry. “That one is mine, alone.”

Dean was too far gone in being slumped against the foot of the wall to protest belonging to anybody. He tried to stand, but found even that small task impossible in his dazed state. He watched blearily, head ringing with the sounds of impending unconsciousness, as Castiel fought the struggling wrath, celestial hands dipping and swaying in time with the wriggling, yowling shade.

~*~*~*~

Meanwhile, Sam’s spade broke through mud, clanging with a thick clunk against the lid of the casket hidden by ancient dirt. He scrabbled away, working quicker now than he had for a while sweat sticking his shirt liberally to his back. He drove the point of the spade into the casket, smashing and breaking his way into the fragile wood, sending splinters flying every which way.

Finally, he’d cleared a space enough to pour lighter fluid through the hole, followed by salt and a lit match.  
He stepped back, and watched as the flames licked at the bones of the murder victim, satisfaction suffusing his body at another job well done. Thunder growled in the distance and Sam hoped that the impending storm would hold off until most of the burning had taken.

~*~*~*~

The wraith screamed into Castiel’s face, flames licking over its ethereal form as it burnt and withered away. Castiel kept a hold of the struggling, burning shade, until the last few ashes drifted from between his slender fingers. He stepped away, to kneel beside the still groggy Dean. The hunter looked a little worse for wear, prompting the angel to lay the pads of two outstretched fingers gently against the hunter’s forehead. He blinked, sending a cool wash of healing Grace inside Dean, smiling slightly when Dean’s eyes fluttered open and stayed open, green irises clear and focussing upon him.

“Is it gone?” Dean asked, glancing around and seeing the belfry was completely devoid of wraith type life forms.

“Yes, Sam did his job well,” Castiel replied, in the tone of voice that suggested he had no doubt that the younger Winchester would do so.

Dean harrumphed and allowed Castiel to haul him to his feet, as outside, the storm finally broke, rain pattering against the sidewalks outside in a torrential gush. Thunder boomed and rolled around the Heavens, deafening to the sheltering angel and hunter hidden in the depths of the belfry. Neither spoke, as they made their way down the steps, sheltering from the rain as best they could as they dashed back across the road to the Impala.

They arrived back at the motel before Sam did, younger hunter liberally coated with rain and thick, cloying mud. The look of relief that crossed Sam’s face at seeing both Dean and Castiel unharmed, and more importantly alive, was evident for all to see. Still, he shrugged it off and said that he was taking a shower before heading to bed. Dean turned to face Castiel, only to discover that the angel had disappeared once more, proving that, much like Sam’s salt-and-burn ritual of earlier in the evening, some things never changed.

~~ the end ~~


End file.
